


The Brightest Colours Fill My Head

by SobbingInACorner



Series: This Is The Greatest Show [3]
Category: The Greatest Showman (2017), The Greatest Showman (Movies)
Genre: Anne Wheeler is a queen, Barnum is trying, Circus, Circus Family, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Everyone Needs A Hug, F/M, Fire, Flashbacks, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Hurt/Comfort, One Big Happy Family, Phillip is an Honorary Barnum, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, So is Lettie
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-01-26
Updated: 2018-08-23
Packaged: 2019-03-09 16:08:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 4,773
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13485060
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SobbingInACorner/pseuds/SobbingInACorner
Summary: She leant into the embrace: she had pushed away his love, then she had nearly lost him.She wouldn’t make the same mistake again.





	1. And You Know You Can't Go Back Again

**Author's Note:**

> I’m only slightly obsessed with this movie I swear  
> This one is setting up the new circus – shameless fluff and plenty of CarWheeler, which owns my heart in case you hadn’t already noticed
> 
> Also a bunch of angst?? Sorry I gotta stop
> 
> {Trigger warning for PTSD and flashbacks in this chapter}

• Phineas •

Phineas felt the happiest he had been in weeks. He still saw the broken looks, remembered the circus in flames, stared down protestors who hated everything he stood for. But his family was whole again. And they were rebuilding their world.

 

• Anne •

She gazed at the intricate plans spread across Phillip's desk. A tent to rival all tents, one that would tower above the performers' heads in brilliant stripes of red and white. In plain sight for all the world to see.

“It’s perfect,” she breathed, eyes sparkling.

“You like it?” the man asked, unsure even of his own designs.

“I love it Phillip! Barnum’s gonna go crazy, it looks amazing! Forget playwriting, you should move into architecture!”

“Why would I become an architect when I have everything I want right here in front of me?” he smirked, curling an arm around her waist and pulling her closer. She leant into the embrace: she had pushed away his love, then she had nearly lost him. 

She wouldn’t make the same mistake again.

 

• Phillip •

“That’s it, keep going – oh wait, careful with that one – yeah, right in there – perfect!”

The Irish Giant stepped down from the ladder from which he had been hanging banners and gave a thumbs up to Phillip. He grinned in return, and continued to make his way round the quickly developing circus tent. Charles was painting new scenery, as W.D watched from a seat high in the rafters, where he had just finished attaching the last set of trapeze bars. 

“Looking good W.D!” Phillip called up to the man, who promptly grabbed the bar, unhinged it and swung down in a graceful arc to the floor, flipping off at the last second and landing lightly on the balls of his feet. A tiny smirk graced his lips.

“Show-off,” muttered Charles.

Lettie was stationed on some hay bales at the side of the ring, helping Anne and some of the girls repair costumes. She was armed with a wicked looking needle, a reel of pink thread and several sacks of sequins. The ladies were all equipped in a similar fashion. Phillip had always had a profound respect for women, especially performing ones. Even more so when they were mightily bored and armed to the teeth with sharp objects. Just as he was debating where to assist next, P.T. Barnum strode into the ring, crimson coat tails flapping behind him.

“Ladies and gentlemen, I am pleased to announce that our first shows are scheduled in a week and tickets are already selling!” he announced, gesturing towards the entrance. “That means rehearsals, and I’ve been thinking: new circus, new show – why not some new acts too?”

Lettie grinned. “Plenty of singing I hope?”

“You can bet on it,” Barnum replied. “Oh, and Phillip?”

He jumped, startled by the mention of his name. “Yes?”

“You're not an apprentice any more, so we’ve got to make you a showman.”

 

• Anne •

Anne loved rehearsals. No deafening audience to please, or stiflingly hot wigs; just the circus. Practising complicated new stunts, soaring through the cool air with W.D. Watching the faces of her friends as they celebrated their individuality. Not as a performance, but as real, joyous people.   
It was in this particular performance that Barnum decided he wanted flames. 

“Flamethrowers! Jugglers of fire! Heck, even breathers of fire! The audience will go crazy for it!” he cried. “You guys can do that right?” he added, twisting to look at the circus' resident pyro-technicians. They engaged in a hasty debate, then nodded in confirmation.

“Great! That’ll do nicely in our finale – right everyone, 2 hours to go over any new set pieces, then we run this show from the top!”

Phillip stood still for a moment, staring at the scurrying performers with eyes somewhere else. Then he shook his head and quickly strode away. Anne didn’t think about it again.

 

• Phillip •

Phillip adjusted his jacket once more. Everything felt too hot. Too tight. Why was it so hot? The sound of the performers practising on stage was muffled. All he could hear was his steady breathing, all he could feel was the droplets of sweat rolling down his face, and as he looked out into that ring he saw fire, and –

“Phillip?”

Barnum stood behind him. 

“We’re about to run through the finale, you're up! Ready?” he grinned.

“I...”

“Are you ok? You don’t look so good,” said the ringmaster.

“I.. Yeah, I’m – I mean.. I’m fine. Yeah. Fine.”

“You sure?”

“Y-yeah, all good, no worries here...”

Barnum frowned at the younger man. Then the music started up, and he patted him on the shoulder before jogging onto the stage.

 

• Anne •

Phillip was not ok. From the minute he burst onto stage and began singing, she could tell something was off. He was a mere shadow of his everyday energy, a showman’s excited face replaced with a pale, fragile mask. He looked every bit like glass – his eyes were darting left and right, and it appeared as if one touch would shatter him. What was he staring at? Her eyes followed his. And she realised.

 

• Phillip •

He felt like he was underwater. Everything was quiet, dark. He couldn’t scream for help, as much as he wanted to. It was all he could do to choke out the lyrics and move to the beat of the song. He was drowning. And in the corner of his vision.

Fire.

 

• Anne •

She had to get down there. To tell someone, to scream, to shout. She had seen this before. In her mother, father, even in her brother. Their eyes saw back to a time long gone, and they were afraid of that time. They began fragile, staring. Panicked. Then they broke. They saw what wasn’t there. For her family it was enraged shouts, the hiss of whips and bloodied backs. For Phillip?

Fire.

 

• Phillip • 

As he turned, he could see it. It was burning. Just like that building, that night. Where the moon stared at him as the rubble fell around him. When all he knew was darkness. And pain. And 

fire

and suddenly it was everywhere the fire and it was burning and he was burning and the smoke he could smell it he was choking choking why was he choking and Anne _Anne_ where was she but there were flames and the rubble as stone fell and he was trapped it hurt and there was darkness and pain and flames and _fire_ and this was wrong wrong wrong

“PHILLIP!”


	2. Out of Reach From Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Move,” she ordered, voice strangely calm. Barnum obeyed, at a loss for what to do. She knelt in front of Phillip. He was slumped on the floor, trembling, eyes a thousand miles away but fixated on one thing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I love making characters suffer?? I should stop??? But suffering means fluff after and we all love fluff
> 
> This chapter is dedicated to SparrowFlight246, who's comment on the previous chapter read:
> 
> 'Please continue. Please continue please continue please continue.
> 
> This is so great so far, but I need more. Please continue.'
> 
> Here you go! :D

• Anne •

She touched the floor just as he collapsed. 

“PHILLIP!” she shrieked, sprinting towards him. Barnum had made it there faster, and was kneeling in front of the shaking man.

“Move,” she ordered, voice strangely calm. Barnum obeyed, at a loss for what to do. She knelt in front of Phillip. He was slumped on the floor, trembling, eyes a thousand miles away but fixated on one thing.

“Barnum, get that fire out,” she hissed urgently. The ringmaster moved sluggishly. “Now!” Barnum startled, and leapt up to his feet to give the order. The rest of the circus had screeched to a halt, and were now watching with concern from around the ring. As the pyro-technicians went about extinguishing their torches, Anne turned her attention back to Phillip. His cobalt eyes were dilated and wide, and a stream of tears fell from them. 

“Phillip?” she tried, gently reaching to touch his shoulder. As soon as she made contact, he flinched away from her touch. Could he even see her? 

“Phillip? It's me. Anne.”

At that he let out a sharp breath and flinched further away from her, mumbling something under his breath. She leaned in tentatively.

“Anne,” he breathed. “Anne.”

She moved around to sit in front of him, filling his view. He flinched back, letting out the smallest of whimpers. Anne wanted to sob, but she had a job to do.

“Phillip. Listen to me. You are here. You are safe. You are with me. Can you hear me Phillip?”

He looked up, fixing her with those shattered eyes. 

“Anne?” he mumbled.

“Yeah, Anne. I'm here. You found me. We’re safe. Safe, Phillip.”

“Safe. Anne.”

“Yes Phillip. Safe. I’m safe. We’re safe.”

“The smoke.”

“There's no smoke Phillip. There’s no fire. We’re home.”

“Home?”

“Home.”

Phillip stared at her as if seeing her for the first time. His hands shook, holding up his tired frame.

“Anne.”

“Yeah, Anne. Do you mind if I touch you? Can I do that?”

“Yeah.”

She bent forward slowly, and pulled the man into a hug. He fell forward into her embrace, silent tears dripping onto her shoulders. 

“Phillip, you were having what is called a flashback. Whatever you saw, it wasn’t real. You are here, in the tent, safe with me. I need you to breath for me, can you do that?”

Phillip nodded, taking great, shuddering breaths. Slowly but surely, his breathing evened out, and he slumped into her side, eyes closed.

“Phillip?”

“Yeah?”

“Are you safe now?”

“Yeah. M’tired.”

“Ok, you can sleep soon, but we’ve gotta move you first. Can you stand up for me?”

Barnum moved in silently to support him, and together they helped stand the man up and helped him off the stage. By that time the rest of the circus had dispersed quietly under W.D's instructions, once he realised what his sister was doing.

 

• Phineas •

Phineas was worried about his partner. The man in question currently lay swathed in blankets on a row of hay bales, sound asleep. He turned to Anne, who was watching him with a sad smile. 

“What... was that?”

Anne turned to look at him.

“People call them ‘flashbacks’. When someone has experienced a particularly traumatic event, it leaves a mental scar as well as a physical one. They can be triggered by something that reminds them of the event, and it will take them back there. They... well, you saw.”

“So what did he...”

Oh. Of course.

Fire.

He clenched his fists, knuckles turning white. “I should have seen it earlier. I should have known!”

“Don’t blame yourself again Barnum; you can never tell with these things.”

Phineas stared at the trapeze artist.

“You seem to know an awful lot about them.”

“Mr Barnum, I came from the South. I wasn’t old enough to remember. My family was. My brother still is.”

The penny dropped.

“Anne, I’m... I’m so sorry.”

“Don’t be - again, not your fault. But I learnt to help with these ‘attacks’, and that’s how I helped Phillip.”

Then P.T. Barnum saw Anne in a new light for the first time. She loved this man, she truly did. And she had dealt with years upon years of hardship, helped her family through these flashbacks. Learned. Adapted. Taught herself to help in any way she could. She stared the world straight in the face, daring to love a white man. And nothing stopped her.

“Anne Wheeler, you are a truly remarkable woman.”

“Thank you, Mr Barnum.”

_I am brave,_

_I am bruised,_

_I am who I’m meant to be._

_This is me._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So that's a thing  
> I don't know the exact time period this is set in, but I figured around the 1880s, meaning slavery in America was abolished around 15 years before. Given that W. D is about 25 in the movie, he could have easily remembered a childhood in slavery. Am I looking too much into it? Probably, but I wanted to justify my use of this topic in the story :)
> 
> Please comment any prompts or stories you'd like to see from me - I need ideas! :D


	3. Say That The World Could Be Ours

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It hurt her to see Phillip like this, tears of anguish soaking through her cotton shirt. Phillip Carlyle was a brilliant man – kind, clever, with a talent for show-business and a permanent sparkle in his eyes. He was quick to defend his beloved circus, and never backed down from a challenge. So how had he become this fragile man, with broken eyes and a crushed spirit? Anne loved him nevertheless – and she wanted her Phillip back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah no this movie has completely taken over my life  
> Plenty of CarWheeler, lots of feelings – fun times
> 
> {Trigger warning for PTSD and mentions of flashbacks and slavery}

• Anne •

It was Lettie's turn watching him when he woke up.

“Anne!” came a frantic whisper from backstage. _“Anne! He's awake!”_

Anne dropped the wig she was combing and sprinted towards the voice.

“Anne! He just woke up, just shot up right in front of me, his eyes were really wide and he looked so confused I don’t know what to do help me help me help me -”

“Lettie.”

The bearded lady took a deep breath. “Yes Anne?”

“He’ll be fine, I know what to do. _Calm down._ Go play cards with Charles, he wants to break in a new deck he bought yesterday.”

Lettie nodded, slightly less panicked, and hurried away.

Anne moved cautiously towards the hay bales, where Phillip sat unsteadily, having shaken off the blankets previously draped over him. His eyes met hers.

“Anne! I.. what am I.. Why am I backstage?”

“Do you remember what happened?”

“I...”

He gasped, as the events of the past hours came rushing back to him. Fresh tears welled in his tired eyes.

“The fire!” he choked, “The fire, I was there again, everything was burning and screaming and collapsing and _you were gone!”_

Anne strode towards the panicked man and threw her arms around him. It hurt her to see Phillip like this, tears of anguish soaking through her cotton shirt. Phillip Carlyle was a brilliant man – kind, clever, with a talent for show-business and a permanent sparkle in his eyes. He was quick to defend his beloved circus, and never backed down from a challenge. So how had he become this fragile man, with broken eyes and a crushed spirit? Anne loved him nevertheless – and she wanted her Phillip back.

Finally, Phillip looked up. He took great shuddering breaths as he searched her face for answers to his troubles.

“What _was_ that? Back in – in the ring?”

Anne dropped to the floor and sat cross legged, staring at the man. Phillip followed suit, albeit a little slower.

“It was something called a flashback. It takes you back to an event or experience, mostly when someone has experienced something traumatic like war, or a murder,” _or slavery_ –

“Or a fire.”

A pause.

“Or a fire.”

She let out a breath she didn’t even know she had been holding. Phillip rested his chin in his hands. Worn, scarlet sleeves creased as he lent forwards in thought – a single polished button caught the fading lamplight and glimmered, igniting the space between them with a single flash of brilliant gold.

“Will I have more?”

Anne knew he’d ask. Truth be told, she didn’t know the answer.

“I don’t know.”

“Can it be stopped?”

“Maybe one day.”

She would be there to help her love through whatever life tried to throw at him.

“What can I do to help?”

That threw her.

“What do you mean?”

He smirked playfully, but there was grey in the startling blue of his eyes, a ghost of sorrow in the smile that spread across his face.

“Well, I can’t be the only one with this trauma thing! There must be plenty of men from the war who have flashbacks. And I suppose.. You guys in the circus..” He stopped. Glanced up at her.

“People _hated_ _you_. They wanted you _dead_. For existing! How are you still – you know?” he gestured haphazardly.

“Ok?”

“Yeah.”

“I didn’t get it as bad. I was born just before.. Before slavery was abolished,” she rushed. “Then we lived out in the country. Less people, less hatred. I only truly learnt what it was like a couple of years ago, when we moved. But the others? They’re older. They lived right here, surrounded by the very beings that considered them the scum of the earth. Unworthy to walk among them, only fit to scrape the dirt from their shoes and be paraded as a freak show. And my brother?”

Realisation dawned on Phillip's stricken face.

“He’s older.”

“He remembers.”

 

•Phillip•

Now the roles were reversed: tears threatened to spill from Anne's eyes, and Phillip had moved to wrap his arms around her. He had seen fire, but for W. D. Wheeler? He couldn’t even begin to imagine.

“It was late one evening. You had already left. Charles had found one of the horsewhips from the second act and was chasing Dog Boy around with it. They were having fun. But W. D...” Her breath caught in her throat as she struggled to voice the memory. “He heard the screams of joy but remembered pain. He saw those smooth, embellished whips and glimpsed rough, bloodied leather. He..”

A tear traced its way down her face, curving over her cheek and dripping off her chin. More followed.

“He just _screamed_. He collapsed, right there on the floor and just _screamed_. I could see every last detail of his past etched painstakingly clear into his face. His terrified face. My big, strong brother W. D. Felled by a man playing with a fake whip. The worst thing? I knew what to do. I had seen this so many times before and I knew what to do. I helped you the same way I help him.”

“I’m so sorry.”

Phillip stayed quiet for a long time.

“Who else knows?” he asked, finally breaking the sorrowful silence.

“Just Barnum.”

He thought for a moment. Then he placed a gentle kiss on his lover's cheek and stood up, pulling her up with him.

“Then I believe gratitude is in order. Thank you, Miss Wheeler, for aiding me in my troubles.”

 

•Anne•

She smiled slightly, then curtseyed.

“You are very welcome, Mr Carlyle.”

“Now, if that enraged shriek just then is anything to go by, I'd say Charles just beat Lettie at cards. Shall we go intervene before the poor man gets killed?”

A genuine smile spread across his face, and Anne nodded, unable to stop herself from matching his grin. She had her Phillip back.

_We will come back home,_

_and we will come back home,_

_home again._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Did I mention I'm obsessed with these two
> 
> Guys I need prompts! Comment down below with any ideas or prompts you want me to write :D


	4. Update!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Read below!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Read below!

Hello anyone still subscribed to this fic! I was recently inspired by a comment (and having rewatched the movie) to continue this story! I finished it hastily due to lost interest, but my exams are over so what better time to kick back and binge write fan fiction?

Expect a new chapter in the upcoming week! :D

SobbingInACorner xx


	5. A Vision of the One I See

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They stayed up late that night. Phillip seemed determined to put the evening’s events behind him, and no one particularly wanted to bring them up again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> YA GIRL IS BACK  
> took a super long break, but now I'm ready for this fic and many more to come!   
> And this chapter is dedicated to the amazing Malachi, who's wonderful comments inspired me to continue this story - thank you so much :D  
> Enjoy!

•Anne•

They stayed up late that night. Phillip seemed determined to put the evening’s events behind him, and no one particularly wanted to bring them up again.

So they sat in a loose circle, sprawled on the sawdust floor of the circus ring, and played cards. One by one, the performers joined the group, until almost the entire circus was locked in a nerve-racking game of trumps. Barnum had gone home early, and WD was swinging lazily from the ropes secured to the tent's crossbar. Her brother had no interest in playing card games, but his view from above gave him the perfect opportunity to peek at people’s cards. Even Anne couldn’t mask her apprehension when a signature smirk spread across the acrobat's face, signalling her severe disadvantage in the game at hand.

To her right, Lettie was still fuming at Charles for her defeat prior to the current match. Anne would occasionally catch mutters of ‘no good short stuff', and ‘wouldn’t know fair play if it slapped him with a haddock'.

To her left, Phillip stared at his cards with quiet intensity. In fact, the strength of his glare seemed seconds away from cutting straight through the flimsy card deck he clutched in his right hand. Chuckling at her lover’s dedication, Anne turned her gaze to his left hand. It was fiddling with his coat buttons, twisting and twisting and twisting. Round and round and round again. Tiny droplets of sweat ran from his temples, and eyes that had seemed wrinkled in concentration just seconds earlier now appeared creased with tension. This wasn’t dedication, but Phillip's every attempt to hide his anxiety.

 

_“Will I have more?”_

_Anne knew he’d ask. Truth be told, she didn’t know the answer._

_“I don’t know.”_

 

Trauma reared its ugly face in many places, and in many ways.

But O'Malley shouted with joy, Phillip glanced up with a grin on his face, and the world continued to turn.

 

Night had fallen, and Anne was walking to her trailer. She pulled her shawl tighter around her shoulders as she walked; the autumn air wasn't exactly sweltering. 

The rest of the troupe were settling down for the night too. One by one, lights were dimming across the campsite. Roaring laughter had been exchanged for hushed whispers, and the animals were ‘safely’ stocked in their pens. (Charles had been drunkenly riding Spirit around the ring as a ‘victory lap' after his card game triumph.)

Charles had promised to lock the pens, but knowing him, the lions were halfway across America by now.

She rolled her eyes and turned on her heel, striding towards the makeshift stable block. But as she approached, a muffled noise caught her ear. Anne slowed, but continued to creep forward cautiously. That was no whinny or snort, no elephant's grunt. That was a whimper of fear.

_Human_ fear.

She pushed the gate open, wincing at the creak, and tiptoed into the elephant's pen. Only one of the gentle giants was still awake, and he raised his trunk in greeting.

“Hey Bertie,” whispered Anne. “See anyone round here?”

The elephant didn’t reply.

Anne shrugged and faced the dark expanse of the pen's interior.

“Hello? Anyone here?”

There was no reply. Must have been the wind. Anne groaned, and started to make her way back towards the gate. Then an all-too-familiar voice pierced the night's silence.

“Anne?”

_“Phillip?”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ooh cliffhanger I gotta stop  
> Getting back into the feel for fanfic, warming my writer hands up if you will  
> Leave a comment if you enjoyed! (Or if you didn't!)


	6. I Think of What the World Could Be

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Phillip couldn’t remember what he had been dreaming about. But he was drenched in sweat and covered in straw, and the most awful sense of unease crept around him like fog. So it couldn’t exactly have been a good dream.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm back lads  
> Had loads of fun writing this chapter  
> Plenty of fluff and a little bit of angst to kick things off!
> 
> Thank you again for the wonderful comments :)
> 
> Enjoy!

•Phillip•

He been awake for mere seconds, jerking forward in a desperate reach for something that wasn’t there. A tantalising sliver of memory waved teasingly at him, then disappeared into the depths of his brain. The human mind was truly infuriating.

Phillip couldn’t remember what he had been dreaming about. But he was drenched in sweat and covered in straw, and the most awful sense of unease crept around him like fog. So it couldn’t exactly have been a good dream.

Phillip really had to stop falling asleep in awkward places. First the bar after his first show; then Barnum's trailer after a night of rehearsals; then halfway up the dressing room steps. (Charles would never let him live that one down.) Most recently, backstage in the ring this very day. He had scared the living daylights out of poor Lettie when he woke up. That had been _really_ awkward.

But now the gate was creaking, and an all-too familiar silhouette was standing by the elephants. The dim moonlight illuminated nothing but the paddock's entrance, meaning Phillip was invisible to her.

“Anne?”

_“Phillip?”_

She rushed towards him, and as soon as he felt her warm skin brush against his in the darkness, everything felt a little more right.

“What on earth are you doing out here?” came Anne’s incredulous voice.

“I don’t know,” came his reply by reflex, but it was true. Phillip had _no idea_ why he was laid on a straw pile in the elephant paddock.

“I finished the game, then I think I was headed back to the trailer. I needed a good night's sleep.”

Anne tutted. Phillip swore that he felt her eyes roll, even through the darkness, and he smiled.

“You won’t get a good night’s sleep if you catch hypothermia and die, Phillip!”

She had such a way with words. God he loved her.

“Let’s go back to your trailer now and talk it over, then you can get your damned ‘good night’s sleep' in a proper bed...”

But now her words were drifting into the distance, and her arms were warm around his shoulders, and the straw was surprisingly comfortable, and before he knew it, Phillip Carlyle was asleep once more.

 

•Anne•

“...and actual night clothes, not this red monstrosity.”

She never had liked the waistcoat. The ugly thing drew eyes to his torso, and detracted attention from the shining eyes of the performer the audience paid to see. Granted, no one in the audience had super vision which allowed them to see each performer’s face, and Anne was a little opinionated when it came to the matter, but her point still stood.

She was roused from her sulk when, all of a sudden, Phillip's head hit her shoulder. His short breaths ghosted across her skin.

“Phillip?”

_Not again._

He would be freezing.

Making sure not to wake him, she began to bring her hands up to her lapel, where her shawl was loosely fastened. She removed gradually, wincing at every rustle of fabric. The entire process was excruciating, but after about 2 minutes of slow work, the shawl now rested around Phillip's shoulders. Phillip’s _taut_ shoulders.

Anne frowned.

The damned dark wouldn’t let her see his face, but she could bet that his eyebrows were drawn and his lips pursed.

 

_‘Will I have more?’_

 

And then the whimpering suddenly made sense, and Anne was afraid for the man asleep on the straw pile.

 

•Phillip•

Phillip remembered what he had been dreaming about.

Now it surrounded him.

 

 

 

  
_Fire._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm an awful person ahahahaha 
> 
> Leave a comment if you enjoyed! (Or if you didn't!)


	7. You Think I Don't Want to Run to You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The whole circus was screaming as their flesh burned and their eyeballs seared.  
> Phillip tried to call, to tell them to move, run, just go.  
> But no sound left his parched mouth.
> 
> He screamed until his throat was raw and blood stained his teeth, but still his family burned.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Heeeeey  
> Contrary to popular belief I'm actually not dead  
> Reasons why 'SobbingInACorner' is an awful author part 2:  
> Promises never to go missing again then GOES MISSING AGAIN  
> I don't really have a decent excuse this time, mental health went to shit and I had no motivation to write  
> However, I got back into my swing pretty recently and figured writing would actually help me get back into a routine again  
> That being said, don't get your hopes up too much guys, I'll probably go missing for a year next :')  
> I'll stop rambling: enjoy the next chapter!

•Phillip•

His family was burning.

As he stumbled towards them, the world seemed to tilt. Smoke ringed his head like a halo, filling his lungs and choking him. Flames licked at his fingertips, and the heat beat down upon his back like hammers on a weary anvil. The roof cracked and swayed. But the sole focus of Phillip's vision was Anne.

And P.T.

And Charity.

And Lettie, Charles, W.D and the Barnum girls. The whole circus was screaming as their flesh burned and their eyeballs seared. 

Phillip tried to call, to tell them to move, run, just go.

But no sound left his parched mouth.

He screamed until his throat was raw and blood stained his teeth, but still his family burned.

 

•Anne•

“ANNE!”

“Phillip!”

“NO! P.T! CHARITY, LETTIE, NO! _RUN!”_

_“Phillip!”_

“PLEASE, RUN, JUST GET OUT PLEASE, PLEASE, PLEASE JUST _GO!”_

_“Wake up Phillip!”_ she screamed in vain. The man in question tossed and turned on the hay, drenched in sweat. Eyes clasped shut, he continued to scream into the darkness for the figures present in his dream _(nightmare,_ Anne corrected herself, shuddering).

Suddenly, Phillip stopped. He turned over and began to curl into himself, muttering under his breath. As moonlight slowly began to filter into the stables, glistening tears were illuminated on his face. Anne stifled a sob, and leaned in closer.

“I’m sorry...” Phillip whispered. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, _I’m sorry...”_

Anne leaned back with a sigh. Now she was faced with a dilemma. She could either wake him up and risk scaring him further, or leave him to suffer in his nightmare.

What would Mama do?

She bit her lip hesitantly, then shuffled sideways until she was seated to Phillip's right. A tentative arm around his shoulder, some slightly awkward manoeuvring, and Anne was soon laying next to her lover on the hay. A tiny whimper escaped his mouth as his dream continued.

Phillip thought she was gone, right?

All she had to do was remind him she was still there.

She reached out her hand and began to card it through Phillip’s hair, stroking it gently like she had done so many nights before.

She took a deep breath.

“Phillip?”

 

•Phillip•

He stumbled through the ashes of the circus. The sky, buildings, his hands, everything was grey with ash.

His family was gone.

_“HELP!”_ he screamed. _“PLEASE, ANYONE, PLEASE HELP!”_

He dropped to his knees in the rubble, tears tracing tracks in the ash coating his face.

“Please...” he sobbed. But no one came. Not a single soul wondered the grey streets. No hands reached out to help him. 

And now the fire was back, springing into existence from nothing and circling him, rushing like wind. The flames roared and bit at him, snarling like wild animals, like the circus lions they had _slaughtered._

From the fire, faces formed. Horrible, disfigured memories, masks of curling, twisting flames shrieking in pain and accusation.

_“You could have saved us!”_

_“Why did you leave me?”_

_“You promised!”_

_“Worthless!”_

_“Alone!”_

And now a final face burst from the flames, rearing its head and filling Phillip’s world with blistering heat. Anne, her face charred and melted from the flames, mahogany hair rippling with fire.

“Phillip! Listen to me: I’m safe, I’m right here. Please, wake up!”

That wasn’t an accusation, or venomous hatred spilling from acid tongues. It was... familiar. The fire had to be tricking him, taunting him.

“Phillip, _please._ You’re dreaming! I’m ok, I’m right here next to you! 

No. _No._

“Please, Phillip. Remember the first time we kissed? Remember the second time, after you made the deal with Barnum? And the third, when we finished a full rehearsal for the first time and you got so excited you swept me off my feet? Everyone started to cheer, and Charles shoved a 5 whole dollars into Lettie's hand and began to grumble. Remember that?”

He did. He did remember that. Barnum had treated them all to drinks, and his girls had asked when the wedding was.

Fire couldn’t know about that.

“I _love you,_ Phillip Carlyle. _Please_ wake up.”

And a hand stretched out from the flames, not curling crimson but slender fingers and a calloused palm. A human hand, offering escape.

Anne’s hand.

Phillip reached out and took it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Everything's fine dw Anne loves her boy  
> Stuff gets pretty sweet from here on out :)  
> As always, leave a comment if you enjoyed! (Or if you didn't!)

**Author's Note:**

> Someone give this man a h u g
> 
> Also I am in no way an expert on the matter of PTSD, so do tell if there's something I can improve on!


End file.
